A Knight and His Lady
by Myst Knight
Summary: Alma becomes jealous of Agrias' skill with the sword, and her close friendship with Ramza. Agrias sees it differently, however, and offers a knight's viewpoint on the Beoulve siblings' bond. Ramza/Alma, Agrias/Ovelia NEW EXTENDED SCENE
1. A Knight and His Lady

**A Knight and His Lady**

 **A Final Fantasy Tactics Fanfiction by Myst Knight**

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Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Tactics is owned by Square Enix. I write this without consent, and am making no money off of it.

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 _This story is rated T for Ideologically sensitive material (forbidden sibling romance), and some sexuality. For OLDER TEEN AND UP._

 _No offense intended by the controversial content (and as always, don't try this at home!)_

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"Don't you think that sword's...oddly engraved for a knightess such as you, Agrias?"

"Ramza, it's a standard broadsword. A skull adornment means nothing to a true practitioner of the blade, whether Dark or Holy."

"I would've thought this rapier would be more to your liking. You picked it up at least twice."

"Perhaps one day, you'll appreciate the skill of the Holy Knight, rather than merely the weapon."

Alma harrumphed, turning away from the weapons stall with a swish of her skirt. Ramza and Agrias had been going at it since noon, engaged in pointless conflict about the nature of war and weapons. It was like seeing an old married couple bicker...if that old married couple were a pair of sword-fighters capable of slaying a Goddess. As it stood, however, the argument was going completely over the young woman's head, save for the odd reference to the origin of Excalibur, which she had studied about in history class.

Just as Alma was about to start pacing, Ramza and Agrias returned with their supplies, the latter sporting a sly smirk on her face. "Your brother feels my sword doesn't match my countenance," she tossed out offhandedly, propping her new blade on her shoulders. "My eternal squire, hard at work for his knight."

Ramza slumped his shoulders in a rare gesture of defeat. "I wish you wouldn't call me 'your' squire," he mumbled, the Chaos Blade on his back in stark contrast to his meek posture.

Despite her earlier ire. Alma could not help laughing at this. "Brother's a little slow with women today," she teased, halfheartedly trying to hide the smile on her face. It was a rare treat to see her brother with a case of wounded dignity. Usually, it was only Alma herself who could get past Ramza's defenses, but it seems Agrias Oaks had also learned the ins and outs of catching her brother off-guard.

Ramza coughed into his fist, as a means of redirecting the conversation. "And have you procured a weapon for yourself, Alma?" Ramza huffed, patting the hilt of his own sword.

She grinned, twirling around to flaunt the staff on her back. "It's a genuine wizard's staff," she said, pulling her ponytail back away from the weapon's long haft. "It can even hold up to a fourth level fire spell cast with it."

The young man choked a bit. "A-Alma, you're following the Black Mage's path now?" he gasped, his jaw dropped slightly. "Will you forget about all your training as a healer?"

"I'm just learning the basics, Ramza!" she protested, putting her fists on her hips in a disgruntled display. "Is a simple attack spell really so dark?"

"Only if my little sister uses it..." Ramza muttered, as Agrias chuckled at the both of them.

After going through their purchases one more time, the three travelers left the weapons stall and proceeded down the main street of the podunk town they were currently resting at. Soon, they would meet up with the rest of their unit at their lodgings, including Mustadio, Rafa, Malak, and the rest of the veterans of the Lion War. Conversation was abound everyday about their battles in Murond Death City, a conflict that saw Alma as a bargaining chip in ancient wars dating back to the Zodiac Braves themselves. It was all she could do to cast her best protection spell on Ramza, then hide behind him before the battle got underway; she knew that war had changed Ramza and his army in a much different way than it had changed her.

As Ramza blushed from a cutting comment courtesy of Agrias, Alma frowned down at her lap, her fingers gripping her skirt absently. It was tough being the little sister of a war hero, especially one with as many strong allies as he. There was none she admired more than Ramza Beoulve, but these days it seemed like her beloved brother was like a mountain, larger and grander than she had ever known. And only the Valkyrie could stay amongst the mountains, warriors that had been through death and rebirth, only to soar the heavens higher than ever before.

(No wonder Ramza talks so much with Agrias these days,) she thought to herself, reluctantly acknowledging how the two young warriors had grown closer in those times of strife.

"So maybe Miss Alma should begin with a ranged weapon," Agrias was saying, and Alma brought her attention back to the conversation. "Mustadio could teach her to handle a pistol, if nothing else."

"A Holy Knight suggesting a pistol?" Ramza intoned with a touch of incredulity, though a smirk was already forming on his face. "You've never had a taste for firearms, Agrias."

"Mustadio warmed me to the idea," the woman admitted, rolling her eyes towards the looming clouds above. "Only he insists that I pick up his engineering books as well. I think he wants to convert me to a life of science rather than swordsmanship."

"You can find out new things about yourself by reading," Alma interjected, looking past Ramza to focus on Agrias. "That was how us girls passed time at Igros Academy."

"Though I doubt they gave you weapon schematics in grammar school," Ramza chuckled, smirking at the in-congruent imagery.

"Oh, Ramza!" Alma huffed, turning away from her brother in exasperation.

The afternoon winds was picking up now, and the trio were buffeted against a harsh gale as they soldiered on. A stiff breeze rose like a phoenix reborn, and Alma shrieked as her skirt flew up, exposing her petticoats and bare legs. Regretting that she hadn't worn tights today, the girl struggled mightily with her skirt, her pace becoming rigid as she continued to press forward with Ramza and Agrias. For their part, the two warriors just stared at her, stymied by their companion's unique misfortune, a happenstance that definitely didn't affect armored knights.

As Alma locked eyes with Ramza, she blushed, and continued to hold down her skirt with both hands. "Ramza, don't look!" she cried, trying to avoid flashing her brother as her skirt flapped all around her.

That same brother was about as flush-faced as Alma was, his eyes darting about in an attempt to look at her while respecting her modesty, though the cornucopia of pink skirt and white petticoats made that nigh impossible. Nevertheless, the elder Beoulve soon came to her rescue, and he quickly grabbed his sister's skirt to keep it under control. Alma gasped at Ramza's straightforward demeanor, but soon turned her attentions back to her predicament, thankful for the help. Together the two siblings held down her skirt until the wind subsided, the hem drifting to mid-calf like a receding shoreline.

Alma peered nervously through her tousled-bangs at Ramza, finding his face very close to hers. "I'm sorry about that, Brother," she apologized, straightened up and smoothing her skirt out in a show of regaining decency.

Ramza straightened up as well, trying to bring some dignity to the compromising situation. "It's no problem, Alma," he replied, the telltale remnants of his blush alluding to a wavering resolve. "Only I wish there was someone else to help you sometimes. It's...er, these silly things are a bit uncomfortable for me."

"The eternal struggles of a lady and her modesty," Agrias waxed poetically, shaking her head at the two.

Alma resisted the childish urge to stick her tongue out at Agrias Oaks. The Holy Knight got to walk alongside Ramza as a warrior, and had probably never had to wear even formal attire. How would she know how to handle an uncooperative skirt? Once again, the green-eyed Chocobo had grasped Alma within its talons, and was dragging her off to a forest of frustration.

Clearly sensing the younger girl's frustration, Agrias offered her a gentle smile. "It's a noble thing, Alma," she told her, her voice exuding a warmth that almost seemed foreign to the rugged knight. "What Ramza does for you."

"Lady Agrias?" Alma blinked a few times, tilting her head like a curious kitten.

"The devotion of a knight to his lady," Agrias explained, stopping at a small hill overlooking the inn their party was currently staying at. "It is the greatest duty a knight can undertake. To commit our bodies and souls to the one closest to us, to serve them before any other. We protect our princesses with our lives, and with our swords."

Alma's eyes widened as she caught the hidden meaning in her words. "You're talking about Ovelia, right?" she said, walking over to face the other woman.

And Agrias' expression became twinged with the sweet nectar of melancholy. "I would've done anything for my princess," she spoke into the air, looking past Alma to some distant memory off towards the horizon. "And one day, I must return as her knight once again."

Alma took in a deep breath, her heart fluttered up to meet the air rushing down her throat. "But brother, do you truly feel that way for me?" she asked, turning to Ramza with her hands clasped before her chest.

The young man hesitated for a brief moment, as if suddenly unsure of how to approach his own sister. "Well, of course, Alma," he finally said, settling for levity and mock-irritability. "You're the most important woman in my life, and always have been."

"He's no squire," Agrias said, reversing her earlier jest with a solemn nod. "The blood of the Heavenly Knight flow through his veins, and he has chosen you as his princess."

"Well, in a matter of speaking..." Ramza argued, grimacing off to the side.

Alma was not fooled by his stoic front, and burst out with an ear-to-ear smile. "Brother Ramza..." she sighed, crushing her body happily against his chest. Ramza flushed for a moment at the intimate contact, but soon responded in kind, pulling her close with an arm around her slender waist. In the gentle afternoon sun, the sibling melted together like Zeltennian confectionery delicacies, with Alma's skirt wafting like a flag in the wind. Staring back at her garment, she giggled, and smoothed it down once more, feeling every inch the lady in her brother's life.

And Agrias just stared off into the murky East, towards the borders of their former land of Ivalice. "Princess Ovelia..."

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The evening passed without incident, and as the sun rose over the sleepy frontier town, Ramza's party was preparing to leave for parts unknown. Alma's eyes wandered over to Rafa and Malak, who were arguing over a trivial matter, something about whether or not the Truth or Untruth spell was more unreliable than the other. Alma sighed wistfully, marveling at the bonds of brothers and sisters, holding fast amid a country gone wrong. And as for her own family bonds...

"Alma, hurry it up," Ramza chided her, bringing his bag over his shoulders and placing it upon his trusty steed, Boco. "We setting off for the Western lands, and we need to stay ahead of the weather."

"I'd packed up two hours ago, brother," she argued, though she did as he asked, and headed over to the waiting Chocobos. Searching for her own mount, she was surprised to find a vacancy in the monster ranks. "Ramza, where's Heppoko?" she asked, walking back to his side.

"Agrias is taking him," Ramza replied, readjusting the saddle upon Boco's back to make it more comfortable for the bipedal bird. "She's leaving us for a time to settle a few matters back in Ivalice."

Alma grew pensive, looking down at her feet as she recalled the conversation from yesterday. (Ovelia...)

"You'll be riding with me for now," he continued, walking back over to fetch the girl. Alma nodded without complaint; she and her brother had shared a bed the night before, and she wasn't too perturbed about any close contact.

At least, until Ramza brought up another facet of their relationship. "You can ride sidesaddle, and it'll be more modest for you with the afternoon winds," he suggested, his face curiously free of any shame. "We don't want a repeat of yesterday."

"Oh Ramza, don't talk about things like that!" Alma protested, shaking her head and sending her ponytail flopping back and forth. "It's embarrassing!"

"Alma, are you still upset over it?" he asked. looking genuinely surprised by the outburst. "It's just me, your brother."

"You're still a man, though..." she murmured, unable to fight the flush flooding her face. The mere idea of regarding her brother in such a fashion made Alma's skin prickle up, as did the idea that Ramza had seen her knickers that day she was fighting with her skirt in the wind.

And it was evident that Ramza was thinking along those same lines as well, for soon his complexion matched Alma's. Somehow, though, he came to a resolution faster than her, and swallowed briefly before facing his sister once more. "But I'm your knight," he told her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "And you can trust me with all matters."

Alma gazed into the young man's eyes, so full of heart and passion, an entire lineage of chivalry in the guise of a twenty-year-old squire. And finally, she smiled at him. "I suppose...I'll just have to get used to that," she decided, her face glowing with unconditional love. "What we are now."

Ramza nodded, returning her smile wholeheartedly.

"Hey lovebirds, get a move on!" Mustadio shouted out from ahead of the group. "You can pick this up after we've gotten to the next town!"

Ramza and Alma blushed, shooting a furious look at the tactless engineer. Even after facing down the untold horrors of Hell, Mustadio was never at a loss for words.

Together, the two prepared to set out on their journey once more. From atop Boco, Ramza pulled his sister onto the saddle, making sure she was steady before tending to his steed. Alma readjusted her skirt as it rode up from the quick motion. and wrapped her arms around the boy's torso, wiry and tight from his many battles. Boco let out a wark from the extra weight, but made no further protest as Ramza held the reins and gave a sharp tug.

With a furious cloud of dust, the Chobocos carried the party down the dirt road towards their next adventure in the Western lands. And with that, Alma faced the future alongside her brother, her knight, and whatever else he might become.

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'Fin'


	2. A Knight and Her Lady

**A Knight and Her Lady**

 **A Final Fantasy Tactics Fanfiction by Myst Knight**

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Note: First time trying shoujo-ai! See what you think. Also, some violence and language.

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She had done her best to avoid attention, she figured. The Chocobo she had borrowed from Alma was tied a good distance from the castle, and she had foregone her traditional knight's garb in favor of mercenary duds. A bandit's hood kept her flaxen locks from reflecting the bright afternoon sun, and her sword was wrapped in shrouds of black cloth. It all turned out to an unnecessary precaution; the coast was clear all the way from the ramparts to the gardens, with none of the usual personnel at their posts.

The walk to the Zeltennia church ruins was eerily calm, with naught but a rustle weaving through the willow trees. Agrias' footfalls were like the march of the dead, a cascade of fallen soldiers who could never lower their arms, even when the war was won. Inevitably, the former Holy Knight's thoughts turned towards the Death Corps, a brushfire that eventually gave birth to the confusion and complexities of the Lion War. She had not sympathized with the rebels at the time, but the war had turned everything upside down and inside out, and now, it was Agrias Oaks who drifted amongst the shadows.

She found the woman kneeling in a circle of flowers, her white skirts pooled about her and her hair flowing down her back like a cacao waterfall. Her shoulders were lowered with the weight of compromise and deceit, her porcelain cheeks stained with shining streaks of tears. Agrias felt the usual mixture of affection and sympathy, but now the tiniest twinge of anger arose within her, tightening her fist at how Ovelia had been duped by those closest to her. But as a warrior, Agrias could only act in a manner suitable for one, and so she swallowed her frustration and approached her Princess with a sure, confident gait.

Ovelia did not turn to face Agrias at first, absorbed in the task of adjusting her sleeves. Apparently, she was hiding some object, whether it be a weapon or something else, it was unclear. "Your security was quite lax," Agrias spoke into the silence, taking the initiative in lieu of the Queen's reluctance. "You must believe you are safe in the kingdom you've created with Delita."

"I just wanted to be left alone," Ovelia responded, her head drifting to regard the other woman in a cursory manner. She would not meet Agrias' eyes.

The knight knelt down beside the sandy-haired beauty, resting her hand on her kneepad. "Come, my Princess, let's leave this place," she said, trying to catch her eye. "It's not suitable for one such as yourself."

"It's a place of my own making," she rejoined, her face twisting up with a savage scowl. "And a grave as well."

It was at this point that Agrias caught the glimmer reflecting off the object hidden in the Queen's sleeve. The dagger Ovelia held was crude and chipping; likely she had just bought it at a second-hand weapons shop. Her knuckles were white around the worn grip, her wrist shaking with barely-contained anguish. Although she was holding it like a amateur, the fury in Ovelia's eyes was something Agrias had only seen in Lucavi.

Coming to a realization, Agrias tilted her liege's chin, a liberty that was quite bold from a knight to a Queen. "You sent the castle guards away, so there would be no witnesses," she said, recalling how easy it was for an outlaw such as herself to slip into this purportedly secure stronghold.

"No." Ovelia shook her head fiercely, sending a spray of tears flying about her brown locks. "I didn't want the people to see their Queen as she really is." She gnashed her teeth in a fight to keep her composure. "A filthy interloper, congealed in the shadows of sorrow."

In a fit of frustration, she thrust the dagger towards the earth, slicing a few flowers from their stems in the process. The tears flowed anew, soaking the ground and her skirts as Ovelia howled in defeat, slamming her fist repeatedly against her covered thigh. Agrias stood by her side, a lady in waiting, and waited for her Princess to compose herself. When at last her sobs subsided, Agrias was left looking at a broken woman, dresses in the fineries of Ivalice royalty.

It was then Ovelia told her the whole story, how the real Princess Ovelia had died as a child, how a common girl was brought it to take her place. Ovelia had built her entire life on the facade of royalty, trying to please everyone in the name of a bloodline that was but tap-water. She was already ten-feet underground before she realized she was digging herself into a hole, and the only thing to do was to keep digging deeper. Now, it seems she was digging her own grave...and Delita's.

Agrias couldn't know how much Ovelia had truly suffered from her burdens, but sxhe reached for Ovelia's hand, and gently pried the dagger from her weakening grip. "This dagger," she began, regarding Ovelia and herself in the blade's reflection. "It's not suitable for royalty such as yourself."

"Oh Agrias, I'm no noble!" Ovelia sobbed, burying her head in her hands. "It's just one more lie atop the others!"

"You are a Queen." Agrias interrupted the woman's self-pity with a stern look. "You had only the people's best interest at heart, and will sacrifice anything for their happiness. It's more important than any watery bloodline. I've learned that well."

Ovelia's red eyes beseeched her Knight, a glimmer of life shining within her corpse-like demeanor. "You talk of Ramza Beoulve, and his warriors," she said, invigorated by the mention of her one-time ally.

Taking her hand once more, Agrias brought Ovelia to her feet amidst a rustle of skirts. "We have all risked our lives and our names to bring peace to great Ivalice. But you are still my Princess. It is a Knight's duty to protect his charge, and it's time I honor that commitment. These weapons of war, they are for a knight's hands, and I will not let you carry this burden."

"Agrias..." The Queen's eyes filled up with tears of a different sort, her hand reaching up to caress the knightess' beautiful, statuesque face. A quick breeze was starting to whirl around the church ruins, sending a flurry of flower petals about the two women and around their heads like a circlet. For the first time that day, and perhaps that month or that year, Ovelia smiled, the same sincere smile Agrias remembered from those halcyon days at Orbonne Monastery. "You're always there to save me," she told the knight, her fingers absertly playing with Agrias' fine, blond hair.

Agrias smiled winsomely, holding the young lady by her narrow waist. Ovelia was drawing closer to her protector, her skirts flapping about her pale legs as she pressed up against armor and breastplate. Her Princess was beautiful, a gentle garden flower that was not to be plucked by the likes of King Delita Hyral. "Come with me, Ovelia," Agrias said, finally addressing her without an honorific. "It's time to leave this life behind."

Ovelia nodded, smiling through her tears. "Yes!"

Under a nimbus overcast that filtered the late afternoon, Ovelia and Agrias stole away to an oak tree just off the country road into town. Agrias lifted her liege in a manner similar to bridal carry, a liberty she was no longer hesitant to take of the young queen, thanks to the casual climate of Ramza and his band. Ovelia wrapped her arms around her Knight, transfixed by the heroic visage that she had but seen only from a respectable five paces. All too soon, the trip ended, and Agrias let Ovelia down in a flurry of white skirts.

"Wait here, if you will," she told the runaway queen, adjusting the sling that carried the sword on her back.

"Agrias?" Ovelia crept towards her savior, hands clasped in front of her heart. "Please Agrias, what do you intend?"

A shadow of malice swept across the Knight's face. "I made a promise to myself," she muttered quietly, her hand curling into a fist as the clouds seemed to darken with her anger.

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The crash of flung finery and fallen furniture was not heard by the denizens of the castle; Agrias had already taken care of them with a skill-set borrowed from foreign Ninja warriors. Delita had hit the ground in an undignified heap, his head covered by his cape and his legs akimbo. Scrambling to a crouched position, he stared balefully at the figure before him, who stood as fearsome as a Worker automaton from bygone ages of Ivalice. Agrias' eyes were as Zodiac stones, and seemed to glow with an otherworldly rage.

To his credit, Delita did not remain prone, but rather jolted up and into a swift swipe with his Defender sword. As if observing a gnat, Agrias sidestepped the attack and grasped the inside of the King's arm as he brought it round again. Not wishing to dignify her blade with the blood of a traitor, Agrias instead swung her foot into Delita's chin, a high that once more left the man sprawled on the floor of his royal quarters. Delita coughed, and spat out a sliver of blood that had accumulated at his torn lip.

"I trusted you to protect her," the woman told him, her voice as iron. "You did not. I let you safeguard her happiness, but you led her to darkness." White teeth gnashed together like the fangs of Reis the dragon-form. "No more will I shirk my knight's duty's, Delita Hyral. You will never come near my Princess again."

As Delita writhed on the royal rug beneath him, Agrias flowed forward him like the shadow of the reaper. The commoner-come-king's eyes were alight with fear, fear of this woman and of her sword of justice. With one hand, Agrias hoisted Delita up and stared him down, her mouth twisted into a rough scowl. To his credit, he met her eyes, as if not wanting to give her the satisfaction of begging for his life.

Unbeknownst to him, Delita's death was not what Agrias had in mind. She simply turned him around, keeping him restrained by his arm so he could not struggle. Recalling Orlandu's advice about incapacitating swordsmen, she pulled and twisted on his bicep, ignoring the strains of protest until she heard the predictable SNAP. With the deed done, she tossed him back on the rug like so much refuse, feeling a sense of relief at his weakened groans.

Agrias then turned her back on the fallen monarch, her dark cloak trailing behind her. "Wallow in the corruption you've created," she said. "Your time will come."

Delita growled his hatred, his gauntlet-covered hand clawing at his shattered sword arm. "You self-righteous bitch!" he seethed, glaring with eyes that knew a lifetime of prejudice. "What know of you, my suffering? She was the only thing that made this lot in life worthwhile. You dare take her from me!?"

Agrias tossed a look behind her, remembering the many hardships she and her queen had weathered since first crossing paths with Hyral. "Tough," she said. "Blame yourself, or God."

With that, the former Holy Knight headed out with a new lease of life. Leaving Delita, with his trim and gold and broken arm, to wallow in the loss of skewed ideals and a straw-haired princess.


End file.
